


I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead

by bloomfields



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Real Madrid CF, my attempt at a fake dating au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomfields/pseuds/bloomfields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interpretation of something I saw on tumblr -</p><p> <br/>“our mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a date, so we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead

**Author's Note:**

> oh man this took me way too long, but i promised i'd write more and i love still these twoo.  
> liking the rare pair soml haha.  
> isco definitely does have a dog called messi, right?? i couldn't not use the line 'dog treats for messi'  
> the title's from jenny by studio killers

 

 

 

When James reaches the top of the stairs he is greeted by tinkling piano music and scattered couples obviously too involved with each other to recognise him. He scans the room, looking for anyone familiar. The scruffy kid in him can’t help but admire the expensive grownup-ness of it all, faces lit up by candlelight and voices kept to a sophisticated murmur. James guesses by the absence of any rowdy laughing or shouts, that none of the team are there.

He checks his phone and he’s definitely got the right place and the right time – _be there at 9 and you best be dressed sharp hermanitoo!!_

He frowns and wonders why Marcelo would pick such a romantic and dimly lit bar for just a drink with the team. He looks around again, and feels a small rush of relief when he sees Isco perched on a barstool, with a mildly confused expression on his face. James judges by the dark suit jacket and uncomfortable looking tie he’s wearing that he must’ve gotten the message about dressing nice too.

James gives a little wave when Isco finally catches sight of him, before walking over to the bar, glad to not be stood cluelessly near the entrance anymore.

 

“Hey,” He gratefully wraps his arm round Isco’s shoulders in a hug. “So..what are we doing here?” James feels Isco’s laughter underneath his arm before he backs away.

“I don’t know. And where is everyone?”

Any hope James had of Isco knowing what’s going on fades. He groans and lands heavy on the barstool next to him, their knees almost brush as he spins to face him.

James reaches for his phone again and finds Marcelo’s name in his contacts. James listens to the dial tone and makes a pained face at Isco, who grins and props his head up with his elbow against the bar.

“James!” Marcelo voice is barely audible over the sounds of conversation and music in the background but James knows him well enough to hear smugness in his words, “I was wondering if you would call…So, how’s it going?”

James has to stop gritting his teeth to speak, “What do you mean ‘how’s it going’? Where are you? How come me and Isco are the only ones here?”

Marcelo doesn’t reply straight away, James can hear him talking with someone. James traps his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can use both hands to mime strangling Marcelo’s neck, Isco laughs sympathetically.

“’Celo!” James maybe shouts this too loudly as someone on the table nearest him gives him a dirty look, but he does succeed in getting his attention.

“Sorry. Sorry, bro.” James’ stomach filled with dread at the sound of his friend’s gleeful laughter, “I-We, just thought that maybe you and young Francisco would like some time alone together, you know, get to know each other a little better. In a place that isn’t a football pitch or a gym.”

“What the-… So you mean it’s a date?” James starts to sound a little hysterical, he glances at Isco whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Yes, exactly! Anyway, you can thank me later, Hammy. I’ve got to go.” James is certain someone makes disgusting kissy noises before he hangs up.

“So?” Isco asks and James has to hide his burning face in his hands.

“So.” James looks at him through a gap in his fingers, “I think we’re on a date.”

“Oh, _oh_ …Ok, I’m buying us some drinks.”

 

*

 

It’s really not as awkward as James feared. They make their way through most of a bottle of wine complaining about their asshole teammates, who should really mind their own business. Isco takes off his tie, pulling at it until it’s loose enough to go over his head and undoes his top button.

“You know, I think I’ve got an idea to get back at them.” There’s something in Isco’s eyes when he says this that makes James nervous.

 

Initially, the idea of pretending to date to get back at the others seems a little backwards to James.

 

“But, wouldn’t we just be proving them right?”

“Well yes, but imagine how bad they’d feel after we have the most dramatic break-up a few months down the line.” Isco nods and smiles over his wine. James doesn’t know whether it’s his own empty wine glass or Isco’s persuasion but it’s beginning to sound like a decent plan.

“I guess it would teach them a lesson not to interfere in our personal lives.” James concedes, “I don’t know if I’m very good at acting though.”

“Nah, we’d work as a team, we’d be great.” Isco reaches over to James and uses his fore-finger and thumb to make a loop round his wrist. James can feel his fingertips press on his pulse. “I think we can be pretty convincing.”

James realises in this position they look like any of the other loved-up couples lingering in the restaurant. He slips his hand away before anyone sees.

“Ok,” James grins and watches as Isco’s smile widens to match his own, “Let’s do it, it could be fun.”

 

*

 

James decides his best plan of action would be to keep to half-truths instead of actually lying, his mother had always said his face was too honest for lies.

So when he looks up from tying his laces to find himself surrounded by a circle of his teammates, smug faces grinning down at him, he ducks his head to check his laces again.

“So…last night?” Sergio asks, James guessed he would’ve been involved. He’s a little surprised that Fabio’s stood there like some twinkle-eyed, Portuguese cupid though.

“What about it?” He triple-checks his boots.

“How was it?”

James deliberately dwells on his answer to prolong the suspense, he fusses with his boots some more.

“It was nice.” It really _was_ nice. He could feel the heat rising in his face, James puts it down to the heavy scrutiny he’s under and not because of Isco.

“Is that it? That’s all you’re giving us.” Sergio’s mouth was actually hanging open in disappointment.

“You’re going out again though, right?” Marcelo sounds anxious, “I’m telling you, I’m never wrong about these things.”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe we are.” James stands up, he’s definitely blushing now, but he tells himself that it makes him look more believable.

He moves to escape their circle of interrogation, but struggles to find a gap. James finds himself face to chest with Pepe who looms, grinning over him. He rolls his eyes, there might’ve been a time when he first arrived in Madrid that Pepe had seemed intimidating but not anymore – James elbows him sharp in the ribs.

Pepe yelps and moves out of the way. James half-runs for the door, ignoring their cries of “Blatant elbow! Foul, Ref! _Pintalo de amarillo_!”

 

*

 

_dog walk tomorrow?_

 

James has just gotten in his car ready to drive home when he gets Isco’s text. He can still feel the adrenaline from the night’s home win pulsing through his veins, the noise of the Bernabéu rings in his ears.

 

_ok. why??_

 

_as our second date I mean_

 

_walking your dog is your idea of a romantic date?_

 

_yes! we’re just keeping things low key ok?_

 

_ok. i’ll buy dog treats for messi_

 

The next day, when they’ve collapsed, sweaty and panting on a park bench, having chased Messi through half of the park, Isco has to admit it might not have been the most romantic idea.

“How was I to know he’d spot that squirrel?” Isco shields his face from the setting sun with his arm, James can see a droplet of sweat catching the light as it runs down his neck.

“Hmm,” James shrugs, under the heat of the sun and the warmth of Isco’s gaze. He feels a bit like he’s melting. “the people coming up for autographs and pictures probably killed the mood too.”

“No, that’s just more proof of our date.”

“Proof? I know what we’ll do for proof.” James picks up his phone and carefully snaps an arty shot of Isco’s dog, the sun flaring behind him. Isco leans across to watch over his shoulder as James instagrams it, ‘met this lovely guy today :)'.

“Oh, that’s _good_ James.” Isco grabs his shoulders and shakes him, gently, “only our nosy friends are going to know he’s my dog. I’m proud of you.”

James knows his answering smile probably outshines the sun a little.

 

Later Isco gets an outraged message from Dani.

 

_Dog walking. You took him dog walking???_

 

Isco decides not to show James his reply.

 

_My dogs a babe magnet, what can I say._

 

*

 

So it goes for the next month or so. The whole pretence is a lot easier than Isco anticipated, or it surprises him how little things change.

 

He’s one on one with James in a training match, the ball at his feet. He waits a second, looks up at James’ face; his eyebrows are furrowed kind of hilariously as he concentrates on his feet. Isco feints one way, watching James’ body follow him, only to shift again, and knock the ball through James’ legs.

He hears a shocked intake of breath as James realises what’s happened, Isco swerves past him and is almost away before he’s stopped in his tracks by two arms wrapping around him and pulling him back. He’s lifted off his feet, trapped by James’ chest and his arms. He can hear distant laughter and whistles, he hears a ‘cheers James’ from Gareth who retrieves the abandoned ball and races past the two of them.

 

Isco watches the clouds spin above him, he kicks his feet in the air which only makes James laugh more and squeeze him tighter.

“Sorry,” James says, eventually letting him down, “I couldn’t resist.”

When his feet are finally back on the ground he turns on the spot, still in the circle of James’ arms. He shoves at his chest, not hard enough to make him move but making James laugh again, their smiles wide and close.

“I didn’t realise I was ‘ _going out’_ with such a dirty player, James-” Isco looks over his shoulder briefly, “Oh.”

Someone must have scored in the meantime, their teammates have moved back to their positions ready for the restart, their faces are all turned to them.

James turns and “Oh.”

They shuffle back to the group red-faced, it’s impossible to ignore their smirks but Isco consoles himself that they must've looked convincingly coupley.

Isco is pretty certain they get the eyebrow from Ancelotti, though.

 

It’s turns out to be one of those days, where everyone just gels perfectly and every move is smooth and unpressured.  Isco feels high off the freedom of playing like this, it reminds him of his best childhood memories of playing the game in a park or on the beach.

So he decides to get his own back on James as he sees him walking back to the changing rooms – he runs and leaps at him with a thud, his arms coming round his back like a seatbelt.

The terrified noise James makes is so precious Isco wants to record and make it his message alert. He grins into James shoulder before resting his chin on it. James’ hands have come up to rest on the arms round his chest, he waits a moment for James to catch his breath.

“Sorry” He doesn’t mean it, the smugness in his voice gives him away.

“You don’t mean that at all, do you?” James says, he tilts his head back so far that his nose brushes Isco’s cheek.

“No.” Isco keeps looking forward, but sees James shake his head up at the sky out of the corner of his eye, sighing.

“Hey,” He says quiet, after a minute. His face is so close Isco can almost feel his smile touch his jaw “Are you standing on your tip-toes?

 “…No.”

He is, James’ laughter is instant.

“Shut up.” Isco mumbles and tightens his arms, tempted to hide his face in his shoulder again “It’s not like you’re so tall either.”

 

Just that minute Iker walks past and accuses them of “on-pitch foreplay”.

“No, capi. We were just thinking what we’d do if Suárez bites one of us next _clásico_ ” Isco’s pretty damn proud of his quick thinking and he opens his mouth wide and slowly moves to take a bite out of James’ shoulder – who wriggles out of his arms and looks at him, surprised but still beaming.

Iker looks a bit baffled but he turns away with a quietly pleased looking smile.

 

*

 

Isco’s sat next to Benz in the coach on the way to another home game, he’s secretly hoping that the Frenchman’s calm personality will help counteract the thrumming nervous energy he feels. They really need this win and Isco cannot stop fidgeting.

He gets his phone out and sees a text from James, telling him to _calm down_. He huffs a breath in disbelief, but at least his knee finally stops bouncing.

 

_how did you know I was nervous?_

 

_I’m nervous too so I just guessed_

 

“You can’t go a coach trip without speaking to him?” Karim asks.

“Huh?” Isco looks up sharply, instinctively turning his phone screen away. There are texts on there about their plan, after all.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t snooping. I could pretty much tell by your face who it was.” The corner of Karim’s mouth lilts up in knowing, gently teasing like Karim always is.

“Uh,” Isco realises he probably should use some actual words but he’s stuck “I guess, I didn’t realise I was that obvious”

“It’s not like it’s a bad thing, it’s nice that you two are happy.” He says it like it’s so simple.

Isco gives a weak smile in return and turns away to look out the window. He watches the sun-stained Madrid streets fly by, but he can’t find an answer for the heavy, guilty, mixed up feeling that now fills his head.

 

*

 

Soon enough, the two of them start to share a room on away trips.

Marcelo suggests it first, still full of bravado over his apparent match-making skills even though it’s almost been a whole two months. He says it half as a joke, just to embarrass James with the insinuation – but it actually happens.

“This is ridiculous” James says up at the ceiling, his sense of hearing sensitised by the darkness, he hears the sound of Isco turning in his own bed, rustling the sheets.

“I know” and after a pause “It’s fun though.”

James grins up at the dark “Yeah,”

 

*

 

They keep their voices low, turned towards each other in their airplane seats.  The only other noises are the hum of the plane’s engine and maybe the tinny sound of music from someone’s headphones

They’re on another long flight for a Champions League match, and both of them can’t sleep. Isco listens to James softly tell him about his favourite things from his hometown.

“I remember this one street vendor down the street from me that did these empanadas and fried plantain that were _just_ …obviously I had to stop eating them when I started playing because they are so unhealthy but it just reminds me so much of home.”

Just by watching James talk, Isco feels like he’s being let in a precious memory.

 

In turn, he tells James about Málaga. How he grew up with sand constantly in his hair and his shoes, and how in Madrid he still sometimes hopes to smell the salt of the sea in the air.

“I mean, in Madrid it feels a bit like being trapped, but the sea is this promise, or a reminder, of something bigger and freer. Like nothing in your life is that difficult. You know?” Isco looks up to see James’ eyes watching him, dark and thoughtful in the dim light of the plane. He nods, and looks down.

“There are some things you like about Madrid though, right?” He says hushed, before reaching out his right hand and running his thumb feather-light along the curve of Isco’s hand.

“Yeah,” Isco whispers back, bending his little finger so it catches James’ thumb. The moment’s so fragile it only takes someone a few rows back to stand up to stretch their legs to break it. James pulls his hand away and smiles quickly as if to say sorry.

Isco thinks about how he's grateful they definitely didn't have any audience for that conversation. 

 

*

 

James is rubbing shaving foam on his face when he hears a knock at the door.

“Hey, did I leave my phone in there” Isco voice comes through, muffled.

James’ eyes sweep the bathroom till he sees it next to the sink.

“Hold on,” He goes to grab it but then remembers the foam covering his hands, “Ok, just come in, the doors unlocked.”

James watches as the door opens and Isco pops his head round it.

“Oh,” Isco smiles, and shuffles round James to pick up his phone. James is expecting him to leave but he doesn’t.

Isco looks at him with a growing smile on his face while James covers the underside of his jaw.

 

“Can I do it?”

“Do what?” James is wary of the sly expression on Isco’s face.

“Can I?” Isco looks around, finds the razor James was just about to use and holds it up. “Go on. You trust me, right? I miss shaving.”

James crosses his arms, “If you’re just going to use it to show off about how you can grow a beard, then no.”

“I promise I won’t.” Isco hops up onto the counter next to the sink and reaches for James’ still crossed arms, “Come here.”

“I don’t think this is what normal friends do.” James says but he inches his feet forward as Isco pulls him in.

“No, probably not.” Isco acquiesces as they search each other’s faces for a second, their smiles synchronise. James notices how Isco’s hair is still dripping from his shower, unstyled and glossy-wet; the water has made the collar of his t-shirt damp. “Ok, keep still.”

 

Isco drags a line through the foam up James’ neck, who tries not to swallow too obviously. He’s careful though, and James relaxes under his movements and his chatter about last night’s match. The conversation is one-sided as James closes his eyes, focusing on the almost-scrape of razor and Isco’s fingertips pressing firm into his neck.

He opens his eyes to watch Isco focus on the skin in front of his ear, he can’t help but smile at the stern concentration on Isco’s face as he follows the line of his jaw. Isco notices him smiling and looks at him questioningly. James squeezes his knee and he’s about to say something when they both hear someone in their room.

 

“James? Isco? Are you in here?” It sounds like Keylor.

“We’re in here.” James looks at Isco in surprise.

“In the bathroom?..” James can hear Keylor’s suspicious voice outside the door, “..Are you decent?”

“Yes, come in.” Isco’s eyes don’t leave James, he looks like he’s millimetres from laughing.

“Huh.” Keylor looks stumped, there’s an awkward pause.

“What’s up?” Isco asks, his voice straining not to laugh. James groans and flicks him in the chest; he knows the half of his face that isn’t covered in white foam is blushing red. Isco pinches his hip in return.

“Well, I was just told to say that they want us all downstairs at half-past, not eight.” Keylor says eventually “But, I’ve got to say I’m surprised.”

James frowns at that, he’s certain their relationship (pretend as it may be) is common knowledge for the team at this point, “Surprised at what?”

Keylor leans against the door jamb “I’m surprised that I didn’t get an invite to the wedding you two have obviously had. I’m blinded by the honeymoon stage vibes.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Anyway, see you at half-past then. And you missed a spot, Isco.” The keeper gestures to the whole left side of James’ face. He leaves them with a wink.

 

They’re silent for a second, and then Isco runs the razor under the tap and carries on with his task. The atmosphere is more self-conscious than before, James notices a furrow in Isco’s brow that wasn’t there the first time.

“They really need to make their minds up,” James says after Isco finishes and hops down from the counter. He feels a rare bubble of frustration building in his chest, “First we’re boyfriends or married or whatever else, and we’re not..” His voice turns to a mumble, “we’re not anything.”

Isco sighs and turns to pick up his phone again, keeping his eyes down, “Don’t worry James. We’ll do our big ‘break up’ thing soon, and then everything will be straightened out.”

He pats James’ slightly stinging cheek and moves round him to leave. James wonders if that’s supposed to make him feel better or not.

 

*

 

James had hoped that the shaving incident, which everyone now knows about and mentions whenever possible, would be enough public embarrassment for a decent while.

It’s a couple weeks after and they’re leading up to another vital home game, and James can feel his body getting sick, he doesn’t know if it’s a bug or a virus, but he keeps it quiet. When you play for _los blancos_ you can’t let a thing like this stop you, or he tells himself this as he drags his feet into another sprint.

He’s pretty sure the coaches can see it though, when he’s slowest at the drills for the first time. And Rapha knows something’s wrong when he lands James in a heavy tackle and it takes him too long to stand up. And Cris looks genuinely concerned when James doesn’t retaliate when he teases him.

But, if this thing with Isco has proved anything, it’s that James is good at pretending – so he makes it to matchday still in the team.

 

He forces himself through the warmup, keeping his head down and ignoring the cold sweat clinging to his skin. He sees Isco looking at him with a frown as he stretches out his calf and James turns away, and tries to gulp in some fresh air.

They’re all gathered in the changing room, listening to Ancelotti go through a last-minute team talk when James feels a surge of nausea so strong he lurches to his feet.

“Rodríguez?” Ancelotti was obviously not in the mood for being interrupted and James would feel guilty if he wasn’t busy looking for the nearest door and running through it, his studs scraping the floor.

 

James leaves the rest of the team looking at each other non-plussed, most of them eventually looking to Isco for answers, who doesn’t have any. He wonders if that makes him a bad boyfriend. Probably.

“I’ll- shall I?” He gestures to the door James just ran through. Ancelotti nods, not looking pleased about the last minute team change that seems imminent. Isco grabs the bottle of water at his feet and leaves.

He finds James, still looking green as he apologises profusely to some stewards who are trying to usher him away. He sees Isco who beckons him over, he gives one last apology to the stewards who look like they’d rather he just got out of the way.

“You ok?” He asks, quiet. With one arm he brings James in till his head is leaning on Isco’s shoulder – with the other he hands him the bottle.

“I’m so embarrassed, I should’ve said earlier but I thought I’d just,” He sounds miserable.

“No, I get it.” Isco rubs the back of James’ neck, his skin still clammy “You didn’t want to let anyone down, right?”

He sighs in what Isco thinks is affirmation and stands straight to look at him, “You know, I feel more vulnerable like this than when you had a razor against my throat” A frail smile is on his face, “Is that weird?”

“No,” Isco’s thumbs runs along the back of his hairline “I don’t think so. Come on, we need to get back.”

 

They win the match in the end and Isco doesn’t see James again until they all pile onto the coach, triumphant. He’s sat near the front, face hidden by his hoodie but Isco can see his sheepish smile. Everyone cheerfully pats his head as they walk past and he gets called ‘sick note’ a few times but he looks relieved.

 

*

 

All it takes for James to recover is a few days at home with Salomé, even though he has to remind himself not to kiss her in case he’s contagious.

 

When he’s back, the air feels cleaner at Valdebebas and James fills his lungs with it.

“All better now then?” Cris asks as he props himself on James’ shoulder, not because he’s tired obviously but more in a ‘ _I’m taller than you’_ kind of way.  

James nods.

“Are you sure?” Cris starts to shield himself with his hands and backs away “Just let me know if you’re feeling like you’re going to hurl, ok?”

James rolls his eyes “I’m fine, you’re never going to let it go are you?”

Cris makes a face like he’s thinking about, “Probably not, no.” He flicks a nearby ball off the ground and onto the top of his boot, balancing it. “I guess you had Isco to play nurse though, right?”

Cris’ suggestive grin is so unlike the persona painted in the periódicos that it makes James almost bark out a laugh.

“Shut up, no!” James tries to kick the football off-balance from Cris’ boot, and misses. Cris laughs and kicks the ball up so it lands on his forehead.

 

The truth is that Isco hadn’t been to see him, Isco was obviously worried about him and they’d texted– but actually checking up on him would’ve been too real for a definitely not-real couple. James had thought about swallowing his pride and inviting him. But James is growing more aware of how their little prank, gone way out of hand, is approaching the ‘deadline’ they’d both agreed on that first date. And James is too scared of Isco mentioning it.

 

“Can I ask you something, Cris?” Cris’ eyes moved down from the ball on his forehead to James.

“Sure.”

“How did, I mean” James searches for the words, Cris drops the ball and waits, “How did the idea of me and Isco even come up? What made you guys thinks of it, of us.”

“I’m not sure, I think between all of us we know the two of you pretty well, and we all just agreed that the two of you might need each other. If that makes sense.” Cris looks at him, serious this time “Have you fallen out, or something?”

“No, I was just curious.” James can’t look Cris in the eye.

“Good. We only ever wanted what’s good for you.”

 

Cris’ sincerity hits James like a sucker punch, he feels guilt flooding in his gut. Any bad feeling he still felt over his teammates’ interfering melts away and now James just, regrets everything.

All of those close, treasured moments he had with Isco, which some foolish part of him had believed whole-heartedly, were supposed to be part of some ridiculous, un-funny joke. And now it’s coming up to the punchline and James who never wanted to hurt anybody, now knows this can’t end painlessly.

 

*

 

If Isco’s being honest with himself, he knows that James has been avoiding him all day. Ever since he’d seen him first thing - Isco had gone in for a kiss on the cheek and he could feel James’ neck already straining away, then he made some excuse and disappeared. After that, any time Isco had approached him, James had a vague brush-off prepared.

He guesses it’s the ‘climax’ to their regrettable mess of a prank that’s bothering James, because it’s bothering Isco too. Every day that James was absent, he’d gotten sympathetic back-pats and hugs as if it was him that was ill. It really made the ‘ _my team are no-good assholes who only want to mess with_ me’ theory seem flimsy at best. Why did he think it would be anything other than cruel to punish them for being nothing else than their well-meaning, if intrusive, selves.

If Isco’s being really honest, maybe the whole idea was just his pathetic attempt to get closer to James. And now they’re supposed to ‘break up’? He feels like pulling his hair out.

 

Isco’s not one to give up easily though, especially not when giving up would mean hurting possibly the most sweet-hearted person he knows.

 

He sees the Brazilian who set this soon-to-be train wreck in motion.

“Marcelo, have you seen James?”

“Yeah. He was a bit off as well,” Marcelo scratches his chin, “Did you have your first big argument or something?”

“Where? Where was he, I need to talk to him.”

Marcelo raised his eyebrows, a sly grin on his face, “Oh, you’ve got some making up to do? Well, the Boss wanted him to do some last laps out back to get his fitness up again. Guess he’s still there.”

Isco shouts his thanks over his shoulder, Marcelo shouts “good luck” back.

 

When he finally sees the small figure of James jogging on the opposite side of the pitch, he’s so relieved he almost bumps into Hierro, he skids to a halt.

“Ah, Isco.” He doesn’t look that surprised to see him, “I need to go. Watch him till he gets back, yes? Make sure he stretches and cools down too.” Hierro pats him on the back of the head as he leaves and Isco swears he sees a wink.

While Isco gets over the shock of even one of the coaches knowing about his apparent sex-life he watches James finish his lap; the sun lowering past his shoulder.

 

“Wha-” James struggles to catch his breath when he stops, leaning his hand on his knees for a moment, panting. “How did you know I was here?”

“Marcelo told me.” He says walking closer to James, who stands up straight and huffs. Isco sees the sweat drying on his temple and James’ mouth as he sucks in another gasp of air.

“Should’ve guessed that.” James’ smile is bittersweet, as he looks away from Isco, towards the sun. “What did you want me for anyway?”

 

“I just- I feel like we’ve made a huge mistake.”

James sharply turns to look at him, Isco thinks he can see apprehension in the dark of his eyes.

“I’m sorry I came up with the whole idea of us pretending and then breaking up. And I’m sorry I talked you into it.” Isco’s glad to see some understanding dawn in James’ eyes now, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Well,” James steps a little closer, his arms crossing, “it takes two to fake date so,” He trails off, embarrassed.

“What do you think we should do now?” Isco asks after a long pause, thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be the one coming up with the plans anymore.

“Ok, so I think we have three options. One, we carry on with the plan and have a vicious breakup and upset everyone on the team – and never talk to each other again. Two, we own up that we were pretending the whole time so everyone hates us for lying to them and we’re outcasts. And three…” James’ eyes move from where they were staring over Isco’s shoulder to his face, searching it. He rolls his shoulders, “Three, we continue with the, with us.”

 

Isco’s breath catches in his throat, “With us?”

“Yes,” James smiles like he’s just realised how easy it all is, “Yes, but for real this time.”

Isco feels his own smile light up, and there’s that familiar feeling he loves – like seeing his beloved Mediterranean – a feeling like it really can be that simple if you want it.

“You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it.” James says, he reaches out with one hand to mould round the side of his neck, his thumb runs across the underside of Isco's jawbone. James leans forward and touches Isco’s forehead with his own, and nudges him gently. Isco watches as James shuts his eyes, content. “I meant all of it anyway.”

 

Isco soaks up the feeling – soaks up the warmth of the sun on half of his face. His eyes flit across James' face, he can see where his eyelashes turn from black to blonde.

 

When James backs away, they’re still close enough for Isco to see his pupils adjust to the sunlight.

“Now, seeing as I’m the one with all the bright ideas,” James says grinning. Isco goes to slow-motion punch him in the chest but James stops it with his palm and opens Isco's hand so it's flat against his, and they interlock their fingers. “I’d say it’s about time you kissed me, seeing as we’ve been going out for _months_ now and you still-”

Isco feels the curve of James’ smile under his mouth when he kisses him.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu in the comments/kudos if you want to. thank youu for reading


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